Roses
by CulturalMishap
Summary: Remake of Liquid Roses. Title a work in progress. Sophie Radley thought she had it all. That is, until her father's business partner arrived and turned her entire world upside down with the sip of a dark red liquid.


So, dear readers, I have decided to remake the Roses "draft" I guess you could say. I used it for my short story in Creative Writing. I'm hoping to continue the story, so, here's chapter one!

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Chapter One:

Roses

January 14th, 1845. Winter. The weather that day was cold, but it was my fourteenth birthday. I would finally be past that juvenile age of thirteen and be on my way towards becoming a real, bona fide lady. I had sat at my vanity and washed my face carefully. Everything had to be perfect that day. No speck, no, not even a particle of dirt would grace my face. I shook off the water I was using from my hands and glanced at my image in the mirror. Black curls, messy from scurrying about all day, that hung down to the middle of my back framed my face. I picked up my brush and combed through them lovingly, demolishing any tangle I came across. My dark brown eyes gazed back at me from the large mirror's glossy surface. I smiled a bit. I loved those dark eyes. There was something so mysterious, yet elegant in them. My cheeks were rosy from the chill that hung about my bedroom and my lips were red with youth.

That was me, Sophia Radley, known as Sophie to friends and family. I was the daughter of Victor Radley and Maria Castronova. Mama had come to America with her family in 1819 when she was ten years old. She, her parents, and her younger brother and sister had originally lived in Spain. They knew the Spanish Civil War was coming, and wanted to escape before the war broke out. After arriving in America, Mama worked in a fabric store to help earn money for her family. One day, Papa entered the shop and upon seeing Mama, thought that she was as ravishing as the Greek Goddess of the moon, Diana. You see, Mama had the same enigmatic eyes that I did. And her hair was jet black, always held in a bun. Mama thought Papa was quite handsome himself. His dark brown hair and gray eyes had charmed her. Papa's distant relatives came from England long before I was born, so Papa was an American, tried and true. They courted for a while after their first chance encounter. Mama married Papa when she was twenty years old and he was twenty-five. Two years later, on January 14, 1831, I was born. Papa said I was a sign of good luck because only a few years after my birth, he opened a printing press that had flourished.

I smiled and pulled back some of my hair, tying it with a bright blue ribbon. Back then, blue had been my favorite color and I knew that this ribbon matched the dinner dress I was wearing. The beautiful white fabric was as clean as the snow that had fallen throughout the day and lay still on the ground. Even more of the azure ribbon ran the length of the dress and ended in bows where the fabric at the bottom gathered up. My sleeves sat just off my shoulders and exposed my slightly olive tinted skin. Along the sleeves were more bunches of ribbon. The bodice hugged my slightly curved waist and let the fullness of the dress give the visual effect of wider hips. It was completely perfect for my birthday dinner.

I stood and hurried out of my room and downstairs to greet my parents. They both wished me fond congratulations on another year of my life and hugged and kissed me. The usual birthday routine. Papa patted my cheeks and said "My little Sophie, how you've grown." He smiled and pressed his lips to my forehead. "What will I do? You're becoming a beautiful young woman. I don't know if I will be able to keep the boys from trying to snatch you away," he jested.

I laughed and told him that he would be the only man I would ever love. Mama bore the bad news that with my mature age there would also come mature responsibilities. I sighed. She smiled at Papa who winked back at her just before she took off to finalize the dinner preparations. I jumped a bit as a knock on the door resounded in the air. I fidgeted anxiously, tapping the heels of my Blucher boots against the hard floor. Papa stood at the entry way greeting a guest he had invited. Typically, my birthday had been spent with just my parents and me. This year, Papa insisted that his business partner, Cedric Coolridge, join us for dinner. I turned my head and watched as our guest walked in the door. He was relatively tall, very pale, and had snow white hair. I wanted to question him on its strange color, but thought it rude to ask.  
"Sophie, this is Mr. Coolridge," Papa stated as he took the man's coat and hung it up, "the man that is helping my business to grow and grow."  
"Thank you so much for inviting me," Mr. Coolridge faced me when he spoke. His voice was calm and I couldn't help but feel comfortable with this man around. He noticed the strange way I was looking at him and answered the question I was too timid to ask, "Please don't mind my hair. You see, I saw a ghost when I was young and it frightened the color right out of my hair." He laughed and shook his head, "I'm sorry. Please don't believe that. I'm terrible at lying. Really it's always been like this. I myself am not quite sure why."

"He even brought you a present, Sophie." Papa grinned and walked over to me as I giggled in reply to Mr. Coolridge's story.

"I'm very excited to have you join us." I curtsied to him and rushed into the dining room once Mama peeked out from the door and invited us all inside to eat.

Idle chatter filled the air while Mama set out our feast. Roast chicken, mashed potatoes, warm bread and other delicious foods covered the table. Each one smelled as heavenly as the next. I continued to squirm about in my seat while I ate. My parents laughed at my behavior and finally permitted me to open the three presents that sat to my left. One by one I revealed them, tearing away at the paper. I beamed over each gift in excitement. From one package I had received a new array of colored ribbons for my hair, teal and violet, gold and pink, almost too many colors to count. The second gift was a leather bound journal to record my thoughts and memories in for future posterity. Or as my father had said, in case I ever went senile in my old age. And at last, from the final package I pulled out a tiny bottle of perfume. It was the exact one I had been eyeing for the past month and a half. It was French imported and very costly. Mama and Papa were spoiling me again, but I didn't even care.

I read the curled font of the label out loud, "Parfum de Rose." I squeaked a thank you to my parents and hurriedly put a drop on my wrist. The smell was beautiful. A rose had been by far my favorite flower. To me, a rose seemed regal and courageous. It was like it was the hero of all the flowers on the earth.

Mr. Coolridge cleared his throat and withdrew a bottle he had been brought in with him as his gift to me. The clear, crystalline glass exposed a dark crimson liquid, the same shade of the roses I so fondly adored. I tilted my head in confusion. I'd never seen anything like it before.

"What is that?" I inquired him. I tried to keep my voice placid, though I'm sure some of my excitement was revealed in the tone of it.

"I recently took a trip to Italy, my dear. This is a special children's drink that is served on a child's birthday, or for any other sort of special occasion." Mr. Coolridge held the bottle out to me. I examined it carefully, turning it round and round in my hands. A beautiful art nouveau rose adorned the label and held my attention for the longest time. He continued, "I thought it would be a fitting present to bring you. Especially for being so kind as to allow me to intrude in your home on your birthday. You see, they call it Liquid Roses. I promise there's nothing alcoholic in it," he glanced at my parents and smiled, "Apparently it has a rose extract placed into it. I'm sure you'll be able to tell from its fragrance."

I handed him back the bottle, a bit disheartened knowing I could no longer handle the precious vial. Mr. Coolridge took my glass and poured the liquid into it. He had been right. The scent of roses, even more potent than my perfume, permeated the air. I melted and immediately pulled the cup up to my lips after taking it back from him. I held my face inches away from the liquid, inhaling deep breaths of the sweet stuff. I took a sip and licked my lips. It was like no drink I had ever tasted before, so overwhelmingly sweet, but with a sparkling aftertaste. I drank and drank. With each swallow I took, I felt my head cloud more and more. It was an odd sensation, but I enjoyed it.

Mama started saying something about the cost of the drink, with Papa joking to Mr. Coolridge about how she always was such a snoop in those sorts of manners. Their words slurred in my ears and soon all I could hear was the thrum of my heartbeat. "How odd," I thought. It fluttered oddly, like the wings of a dying bird, then paused. It fluttered once more. My chest constricted and I sucked in a deep breath. Something was not right. I teetered to one side. I told myself to straighten up and regain my balance, but it was like my mind had become detached from my body. Mama shouted my name and my chair slipped out from under me. Thunk. My head throbbed with a numbing pain and the sound of shattering china dishes rose above my murky hearing. My eyes, though fogged, were now gazing at the legs of the chairs we had all been sitting in, rather than the feast laid out on the dining table. I stayed on the floor, unable to move. Mama rushed towards me in a panic just as my heart gave its last ba-bump, and my eyes softly closed.

I stayed that way for a while, drifting in a place of darkness. Cold enveloping my body like the time I had stayed out in the snow for too long as a child; I had refused to come inside from playing in the freshly fallen snow, then was forced to spend the rest of the evening shivering under my blankets with a hot water bottle. I suddenly flickered my eyes open. Mama had been holding my body close to her. I looked at Papa from over her shoulder, Mr. Coolridge at his side. Papa looked very concerned, but Mr. Coolridge's facial expression puzzled me. He seemed at ease, a slight smirk on his thin lips.

"Oh, Sophie! You gave me such a scare!" Mama said with a sigh of relief. She hugged me even tighter. Suddenly, there in her arms, I was aware of a sort of thrumming just below my right cheek. I turned to look at the source of it, still feeling a bit woozy. I could hear the steady pulsing of my mother's blood in a vein running just above the base of her neck. Blinking a few times, I lowered my lips on it. My teeth grazed some smooth surface. I broke it and a warm liquid passed over my lips. I drank once more like I had with that sweet elixir Mr. Coolridge had given me, unable to control myself. I drank and drank, ignoring the calamity of noise that grew louder and louder with each passing moment. I drank from my mother and I drank from my father, even when they tried to run. My body was acting on its own once more. All I wanted was to quench my thirst. Was that so wrong?

And then hush, hush, hush. Everything was soon hushed. Hushed were the movements of every person. Hushed were the heartbeats of my parents. Hushed was the burning ache in my heart to swallow every last drop that would fuel the incessant ta-dum, ta-dum that came from every living being. I sat there and looked at the mess I had caused. Roses were everywhere. They decorated the walls and floors. My parents were covered in them. Roses spilled out from their bodies and roses covered my hands and face. They even stained my dress. My attention was immediately draw away when something shined in the corner of my eye. I turned, only to find myself looking at a silver platter that had fallen on the floor, still propped against the legs of the table.

Staring back at me from the mirror-like surface were teal eyes, the color of the ribbon that was barely clinging to my hair. But my hair was no longer familiar either. From my scalp to about midway down my back, my natural black locks remained. Then strangely, they faded to white, as if they were stained by this new snowy color. Who was that? I reached out my hand towards the platter. A heavy hand seized my wrist before I could touch it, startling me greatly. I was yanked to my feet and stood face to face with Cedric Coolridge.

He took his free hand and lovingly brushed my fussy hair from my face. His eyes softened a bit, though something animalistic remained in the glint of them. He opened his sneering mouth and spoke, "Oh, my dear, how precious you are now." He fondled a lock of my hair, taking great interest in the whitened tips. "How glad I am to finally have a companion," he cooed.

I stood frozen within his grasp. What was I? What had I done? Questions overtook my mind. I shuddered, terrified of the unknown. I was overwhelmed with the urge to cry as my vision fixed itself on my parent's lifeless forms. I had murdered them. Those people had loved me and nurtured me. And this was how I repaid them? I continued to shake and covered my face. The tears would not come no matter how hard I wished for them. I could only make the motions.

Cedric tugged me away and out from the dining room, still mumbling odd phrases under his breath. "You're so perfect," he stated gently as he opened the front door. Icy wind blew in from the outside, heavy snow falling all around. The sky was black and not a single star could be seen.

As I was led away from my home, with Cedric's hand like a vice over my arm, a strange sensation took me over. Hatred. Total and complete hatred. Roses and the color blue, the falling snow and Cedric Coolridge. I hated them all with a passion like I had never experienced before. But there was nothing I could do about it. I would remain with this rat of a man, if that's what he even was, and find out what he had made of me.

Our footsteps crunched in the snow, the wind's howling unable to hide their sound. Behind me was a trail of bright red that would be hidden come morning. But in my unbeating heart was a trail even darker that would never be washed away. I stared at the ground as I trudged forward. Left foot. Right foot.

Cedric looked at me, smiling contentedly, "You're mine now, Sophie. Forever and ever."

These was something about the glint in his eye that told me he wasn't lying and that he'd make sure of it.

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A/N: So, review, comment, do whatever you like. I'm just happy knowing people have read it.


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